


To Be Alive

by BubblyCeci



Category: Greek Mythology, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bastardized Greek Mythology, Derek Feels, Good Peter, Hale Family Feels, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mates, Mentioned Kate Argent, Reviving the Hale Family, Sciles bromance, Scott Doesn't Have Time For Their Shit, Scott is Part of the Pack, Stiles is Part of the Pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:00:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1497556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubblyCeci/pseuds/BubblyCeci
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles likes Derek. Stiles is upset that Derek feels guilty about his family. Stiles plans to fix that and finish his apprenticeship to Deaton at the same time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Not Beta’d, but read over multiple times by me all the same. Apologies for the rushed ending, too. I had no idea how to end it. I do not own Teen Wolf.
> 
> I got the idea from fics where the Hale family is revived by magic or by a wish, and I figured I’d add my own spin. After all, this shit happens in Greek mythology. Granted, not in the multitude I wrote, and not in the same way, but it was where I got the basis from.

            It wasn’t like he was just doing it for Derek. He wasn’t- he wasn’t, _goddammit_ , Scott. It was just that he needed a difficult journey to test his mage powers so he could complete his apprenticeship to Deaton, and, well, what better place than the Underworld? It was a crazy coincidence that all of Derek’s family was chilling there for the rest of eternity. Yeah.

            …Okay, so it wasn’t a completely random happenstance- he couldn’t even lie to himself about that. He had chosen his journey with the idea of returning the poor guy’s family to him. He even had a contact waiting in the wings with new identities for whomever he saved. Hell, Deaton had given him copies of journals of people who had done the same shit- usually for just one or two people, but still. _He was pulling an Orpheus._

            But it wasn’t just because he wanted Derek to pound him into the mattress. He wanted cuddles and domesticity, too, dammit. Plus, even if the guy didn’t return his feelings, they were still friends. Friends that pushed each other to their limits, but friends none the less, and Derek didn’t deserve to feel guilty because he _wasn’t_. He had been fifteen, young and in love, and Kate had taken advantage of it, and that shit wasn’t going to fly with him. Derek was kind and well-meaning, if a bit rough around the edges, and he deserved good things. All the good things.

            Stiles reminded himself of that as he laid down on his mentor’s office couch. His heart was pounding, bruising the inside of his chest, and he breathed out slow in an attempt to calm his nerves. It was difficult. He was essentially putting himself in a magical fucking coma until he either completed the journey or died, and that would scare even the bravest of people. Worth it, though, so worth it if he brought even one person back.

            “Ready?” Deaton questioned. The man’s face was serene as always, but Stiles thought he could see a fierce kind of pride in his dark eyes. Derek hadn’t been the only person to lose someone in the fire, after all, and it was the duty of the pack’s emissary to care for each and every one of the people within the territory. Stiles nodded, amber eyes fluttering closed, and the vet sighed. “Good. Remember your lessons, and do not lose sight of why you’re doing this.”

            “Good luck, buddy,” he heard Scott whisper from beside him, a warm hand running down his arm.

            Then he felt the pinch of a needle sliding into the flesh of his neck, the burn of the magic infused potion as it was pushed into his bloodstream, and everything went blank.

 

…

 

            Stiles snapped awake to growling- low and deep, but more curious than malicious. He was on his feet, standing in the middle of a grey granite room before twin steel doors. Guarding them was the thing making the growls. Cerberus, the Hell-Hound, his mind supplied, remembering the journals he had devoured for weeks before. They had been descriptive, some even had drawings, but none had captured the sheer _size_ of the thing.

            It was as large as, if not bigger than, Derek in full Alpha form, the three heads equivalent to beach balls. Its paws, too, were larger than belief, but the odd thing was its body structure. The hound was almost _skeletal_ , the muscles it had lean and long. Still, the thing thrummed with magical energy, and he knew it could and would overpower him if he made one wrong move.

            “Why are you here?” it hissed, all three jaws snapping. At the sight of its multiple rows of teeth, he had to withhold a flinch. He had faced freakier and more murderous things, goddammit. He wasn’t going to fear a _pup_. “You are not of the dead. Be gone, childe, for you cannot enter here.”

            Stiles straightened his spine, threw back his shoulders. He would not give the hound the satisfaction of seeing him afraid. He couldn’t afford to. “Hell-Hound, I seek audience with your king. I have a grievance that needs to be addressed.” The formal speech was stilted on his tongue, but the tone was sure. None of the others had really used such language, but he felt it suited. When in Rome and all that. Or Greece, rather.

            The Hell-Hound’s heads bobbed in time with each other, understanding lighting their madder eyes. “Allowed,” it spoke, tone gleeful. It was either really nice or plotting, Stiles decided. Cerberus’ teeth clacked together again, muzzles curling up in canine grins. “It has been so long since someone came to seek recompense. Forthward, childe, and bring back light to those unwarrantedly lost. However, be warned: not all is as it seems, and it is all too easy to become one of the mindless. Remember what it was that brought you to our domain. Go.”

            Nice, Stiles decided, he was nice. The heavy looking doors swung out and open. Brightness flooded the room, and he brushed a long-fingered hand against the beast’s side as he ambled past, entering the gold light.

 

…

 

            Scott fidgeted on the couch Derek had bought last week, his heart beating a bit quicker than normal. It was comfy, the couch; an L-shaped black leather six or seven seater Stiles had bullied their Alpha into buying. It matched the warm ambiance Isaac and Lydia had decided on during renovations.

            The reminder of his best friend- his brother- forced his mind to what he was doing. Jesus H. Christ, Stiles was crazy, doing what he was doing, and just because it was the _right_ thing, too! Oh, sure, he knew his brother wanted to marry Derek and have his babies or whatever, but like he had said, it went beyond that. He was in fucking Hell, attempting to petition Hades and Persephone into returning Derek’s poor family because they had died without true reason and before their time. _Jesus. H. Christ._

            He shifted again, restless. He would have been beside him if Derek hadn’t have called and informed him of the date. June third. The day they came together, last year, to form a real pack. The day they all agreed would be sacred. The day they decided to celebrate annually, midnight to midnight. Dammit.

            Stiles knew, had to have known. It made sense, too, Scott supposed, held a kind of poetic symbolism. Saving their Alpha’s old pack on the day his new one formed. Still, it looked like the bastard had bailed, and Derek seemed pissed. Or disappointed, maybe, if he was reading the twitching of his eyebrows right. He wasn’t quite sure- he didn’t speak ‘brow like Stiles.

            “And where is Stiles?” Derek growled the question. Yeah, he was disappointed, not angry. That was good. …Right? The man’s hazel eyes roamed over each of his pack’s upturned faces before settling on Scott’s, where they stayed and started burning red. Not right. “Well?”

            “I- he- er, well,” the teen stumbled over his words. Stiles had told him not to tell, and he wouldn’t break his word. “He- uh- there was this-.” Derek began a low rumble, a warning that he was entering dangerous ground and that talking would be in his best interest. Oh, damn. It wasn’t like it was a big secret, right? Stiles hadn’t even told him why he shouldn’t tell. Scott cast a glance towards an amused Peter before turning back to his Alpha and closing his eyes in resignation. “He’s in Deaton’s office in a magical coma, completing his apprenticeship by going into the Underworld and saving your family. He’ll either die or wake up when he’s finished the journey.”

            The rumble became a roar, and he heard Peter flail off his chair and thud onto the floor. Scott cursed and kept his eyes closed- he didn’t even want to see the two remaining Hales’ faces. He shouldn’t have told them, but he had, and now he had to deal with Derek’s love-hate and Peter’s joke-tease thing for his brother while worrying his own ass off. It was going to be a long day. _Jesus H. Christ._

 

…

 

            The room Stiles entered was bright, and he was forced to shield his amber eyes against the glare. When he adjusted to the light, he took in the area with a gasp. Holy shit. _Holy shit_.

            The ceiling was high, tens of dark metal chandeliers holding giant candles the source of the blinding light, and the walls and floor appeared to be made of polished gold. Smack dab in the middle of the room was the single largest table he had ever seen, and every inch of it was covered in food. Here and there, a person or group of people sat, eating in near silence, the only noise being the smacking of lips or clacking of teeth. It was beautiful and disgusting, and he was struck with the imaginary image of old knights and Vikings and others feasting in celebration.

            The young mage forced his legs to move, bringing him to the end of the table and the closest person. The smell of roasted turkey and fresh baked bread wafted up from the tabletop, and he couldn’t resist the urge to lean forward. His stomach gurgled.

            God, when had he last eaten? He had already been through six rooms, all empty and at least an acre in size each. He deserved a little rest, didn’t he? Besides, he needed to be in tip-top condition to… Why was he there, again? There was a reason, he knew, a damn good one, but he couldn’t seem to remember why beyond that it had something to do with a day of celebration and saving people.

            Stiles’ stomach rumbled again, louder, and he gave a mental shrug. It probably wasn’t important anyway, not like the need to sate his hunger. He leaned forward in order to snag a bite of the feast, a slender hand reaching out, but he paused before touching anything. Something was wrong, bad wrong, and a memory was niggling in the corner of his mind. He retracted his arm, feeling dazed. What was going on?

            “It’s not right. The food’s wrong. Don’t eat it, stop eating it,” he slurred, turning to look at the person beside him.

            It was a woman, pretty and young. She had long blond hair and was tall, almost a full foot taller than him, and his sluggish mind registered her strange garb. Heavy furs were sewn into what resembled a dress. Struggling to remember why it seemed familiar, he turned his attention to her eyes. They were beautiful, or they would have been if the dark blue irises had been lit by any sign of intelligence or even awareness. Instead, they were glassy and dulled by mindlessness. …Mindlessness. _Mindless_.

            _‘Not all is as it seems, and it is all too easy to become one of the mindless. Remember what it was that brought you to our domain.’_ The Cerberus’ words roared into his conscious mind, and his whole body flinched back from the set up. His mind sped back up, and his breathing deepened as his heart raced a pounding tattoo against his ribs. He had almost doomed Derek’s family. He had almost become lost to Hades’ realm. _Holy_ _shit_.

            Now that the haze was broken, he could feel the tainted magic saturating the room. Compulsion spells interwoven with binding charms, if he had to hazard a guess, all powerful and all created to tempt a living person into staying an eternity in the Underworld. He shuddered and glanced again at the poor soul beside him, finally remembering why she had struck him as familiar- she had the stereotypical look of a female in the Viking era and area. She had probably been there for centuries, her bones just as gone as her mind.

            Stiles shuddered again, and he distanced himself from the table before he started walking forward again. He was almost done, if the journals were to be believed. Just a few more rooms left until he entered the room in the exact middle of the Underworld- the throne room.

 

…

 

            Derek sucked in a sharp breath and staggered to his knees beside Deaton’s couch. His boy was so pale, the chocolate brown of his moles standing out even more starkly against his skin. The Alpha’s large hands grasped at one of the boy’s, and he whimpered. His boy was cold to the touch, too, freezing his own werewolf-warm body.

            He wanted to curse, but his mind was stuck on loop. His mate was in danger. His mate was in danger he couldn’t save him from. His mate was in danger for _him_. His stomach clenched, and he felt dizzy as he butted his head against Stiles’ side.

            Guilt clawed at his insides, making the older man even more nauseous. If he hadn’t been a stoic bastard, would his Stiles still have done it? If he had reassured Stiles he was happy, would he still have left? If he had shown Stiles how much he loved and needed him, would his boy still have tried to save his family?

            He choked back a hysteric laugh. Of course he still would have. His mate had the biggest heart of anyone he had ever met and was amongst the most stubborn of them, too, and that was including his mom. He would have done the same thing because of the guilt that Derek felt about it, just to prove his innocence and to make him happy.

            No more, he promised himself. When Stiles got back, Derek was going to shower him in affection. He was going to court the kid, show him how much he meant to him.

 

…

 

            Stiles entered the room with his back tall and straight and his face averted. With slow steps, he approached the obsidian thrones, and three steps away, he stopped and knelt on his knees. “Lord Hades, Lady Persephone,” he greeted, voice clear and respectful. Truthfully, keeping his head tilted downwards and to the side should have been enough of a gesture of respect, but he had come so far. He was not going to fuck it all up just because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

            “Why have you come to my kingdom, childe?” The voice was smooth, silky, and dark with seductive knowledge. It made him want to look up, to see what the god looked like, to sit in his lap and beg for entrance to his bed. He shivered and forced the feeling back- he loved Derek more than he loved his own life, and not even this god was worth abandoning that for. The voice continued, considering and amused and proud as if he knew what Stiles was thinking, “You belong amongst the living, not here with the cold and dead.”

            Stiles took a deep breath, and letting it out in a soft stream, he considered his word choice. There was much he had to say, and he had little time to say it. He could feel the cold creeping into his extremities, indicating he was starting to overstay his welcome. “My lord, I come to you in grievance. The Hale family of Beacon Hills, California, in the United States of America was wrongfully killed seven years ago. A conniving shrew of a woman used their unwitting son to gain information on them, and then she burned them alive while the son and a daughter watched in horror and a burned uncle crawled away. Because of her actions, innocent children and adults were sent here before their time. Because of her actions, Peter Hale went insane and murdered the daughter that lived. I beg for recompense, my lord, as none of the surviving family deserves the guilt she saddled them with. I beg you to give those wrongfully murdered Hales back. I beg you to accept my sacrificial gift and consider my request.”

            With that, he dug the index finger of his right hand into the palm of his left, and he bit back a pained noise as the tore open the skin with a ragged nail. Ignoring the sharp stab of pain, he focused his magic on the blood welling up from the wound, and with a thought, the thick crimson liquid gathered and hardened into an unpolished gemstone. “So you may use it as you will, my lord,” he mumbled, leaving the cut to bleed.

            Footsteps echoed around the room, halting just before him. The god’s magic was almost oppressive so close, and Stiles felt himself struggling to breathe as a warm hand gently pried the gem from his hand. When it left his palm, the footsteps sounded again, and the magic lessened until it was as before.

            Silence reigned for several moments before that silky voice spoke again, this time quiet and decisive. “Request and gift accepted, childe. The Hale family members killed as a result of Kathrine Argent’s actions will be sent back with you, bodies new- and Talia Hale’s power lessened- but otherwise as they were the day they died. I hope the other half of your soul realizes what a gift you have given to him, little mage.”

            “Thank you, my lord,” Stiles had just enough time to whisper, relief flooding his every pore, before his mind went blank.

 

…

 

            Talia Hale blinked away the dark spots dancing in her vision and ignored the chill lingering on her skin- she had far more important things to worry about. A raised hand stopped her revived pack from stepping forward and making noise. The boy from Hades’ throne room was lying on a couch in front of her, and kneeling beside him, holding onto one of his hands, was her baby boy. Her Derek.

            Oh, he had aged well. He had been such an awkward child, tall and bulky and unsure of himself even at fifteen. He had grown into his ears, she noted, and his teeth. He seemed so much more confident now, at the side of the boy that saved them, despite the drying streaks of tears.

            “Come back to me, baby,” he muttered, bringing the boy’s hand up to his cheek. He nuzzled it, scent marking him, before he laid his head down on the boy’s chest. He sighed out a shaky breath. When he next spoke, his voice broke. “Please come back to me, Stiles. I need you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. You’re the only one I’ll ever need again.”

            He had found his mate, too, it seemed, in this Stiles. Talia bit back a smile. She wanted to speak to her son, but she chose instead to relish in the ability to simply feel her own heartbeat. They had time, and she didn’t know when she’d get another chance to observe her baby boy so open and raw again. Looking back at Laura and seeing her amused awe, she knew the rest of her pack felt the same, even the children clinging to their parents’ hands.

            Seconds after that decision, the boy gasped and jerked up, his breathing frantic. He grasped at Derek’s short dark hair and pulled him up to face him, the boy’s startling amber eyes searching his. “Tell me it worked,” he begged. His voice was rough but higher than she would have thought. “Tell me, Derek, please. I need you to be happy.”

            “Am happy,” her son whispered, pulling the boy to his chest. His large hands cupped Stiles’ face and lifted it closer to his own. “Always happy with you.” And then he lowered his lips to brush against the other’s.

            It was chaste and probably their first, if Stiles’ startled gasp was any indication. Still, it was more than Talia wanted to see, and she cleared her throat. The two’s heads swiveled in her direction, making her grin. Oh, to be alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, not Beta'd by anyone other than myself. I apologize for any and all errors.
> 
> Hades, in mythological lore, is a big fan of being just and maintaining balance, even though he doesn’t like people intruding on his territory (the Underworld). When people sacrificed to him, they averted their faces, and black animals were the subject of sacrifice instead of humans. The blood of the sacrifices dripped into a pit or cleft in the ground. Stiles is already in the Underworld, it wouldn’t make much sense for his blood to go into the ground. He makes the stone instead so Hades can shape it how he likes and gift it to his pretty wife, Persephone.


End file.
